


My Blood is Singing with your Voice

by PennanInque



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: All androids are deviants now, Awkward Connor, Connor learns emotions, F/M, Falling in love while solving crime, Friends to Lovers, Mystery, Post good ending, Protective Connor, Serial Killer, Slow Burn, solving a murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennanInque/pseuds/PennanInque
Summary: A new serial killer is on the loose and DPD has no leads. Hank and Connor turn to Hank's god-daughter, local psychologist, to see if she can help solve the case. It's all blood and murder and crime-solving... until it's not. It's not exactly appropriate to fall in love while hunting down someone known as "The Skinner", but hey, what can you do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been floating around in my head for weeks and I finally said "Fuck it, let's write this bitch".  
> It was originally going to be a reader insert story, but I couldn't bring myself to use "your name" inserts. It's pretty vague, with no eye colours or hair colours, so if you like, you can use the "InteractiveFics" extension in Chrome to change out the names. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The Zodiac Killer. Active from 1960s-1970s. 37 alleged victims, 7 confirmed.

The Hitchhiker Murderer. Active during 1969. 80-90 alleged victims, 9 confirmed.

The Chessboard Killer. Active during 1992. 60 alleged victims, 49 confirmed.

The Fillet Assassin. Active from 2029-2031. 51 alleged victims. 13 confirmed.

 

The Skinner. Active from 2038-present. 6 victims and counting.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jesus- _fucking_ -Christ.”

Lieutenant Hank Anderson swore down at the mutilated body of one Mr. John McAllen. Or, well, they _thought_ it was John McAllen, given the witness reports and the driver’s license tucked into the wallet on the table. They were still waiting for the DNA results. Normally, they would run finger prints or have one of the android officers scan the vic’s face, but to do either of those things, you need… skin.

And this poor bastard didn’t have any. Obviously he had _had_ skin at one point, but when the DPD arrived at 243 Maplewood Street, they were aghast to find that the victim’s entire epidermis had been removed. If it weren’t for the arms and legs, bloody and maimed as they were, they wouldn’t have recognized the carcase as human. The corpse was little more than a mass of muscle covering bone, hunched over itself as it slumped against the far wall.

“Not another one,” Hank cursed.

The greying lieutenant was dressed in a dated zebra-print shirt and weathered brown jacket as he stood next to another man, both of them staring at the brutal scene. They had arrived together, having been in each other’s company when they finally noticed Hank’s phone going off. The other man was dressed in a white button down and a black jacket similar to the lieutenant’s. His brown hair was combed back save for a few strands that escaped to hang on his forehead.

“Call came in a few hours ago from a payphone across town,” Detective Ben Collins said, his face in a tight grimace. “From the blood coagulation, we estimated the time of death at 9:12. None of the neighbors said they saw anything, just that they heard McAllen come home from work last night, but that’s all we got.”

“Anything left at the scene?” the lieutenant asked.

Collins shook his head. “Same as all the others. Nothing out of place except blood and a body.”

Hank heaved a sigh. He turned to the man on his right. His partner. “What about you, Connor? You picking up on anything?”

Detective Connor stepped around Hank to assess the room. Most of the other officers receded out of his path, some out of respect for the world’s first android detective, some out of wariness for the RK800’s… unconventional analyzing methods.

Connor took a quick scan of the room before sending a regretful glance back at Hank. “No. Detective Collins is right. There is nothing here, just like the others.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Lieutenant Anderson hissed. He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Finally, he glanced at Ben. “Maintain the perimeter and keep working the scene. We have next to nothing on whoever is doing this. We can’t afford to miss a single particle of evidence, got it?”

Detective Collins looked grim, but nonetheless answered in the affirmative. “We got it, Hank.”

 

* * *

 

Hank nearly busted down his front door as he aggressively shoved it open. He stormed into the house, a bundle of nerves and agitated energy. Passing an eager Sumo, he beelined to the fridge and popped the top off a beer bottle. He chugged half of it and collapsed on the couch as Connor much more calmly stepped over the threshold, kneeling to give the excited Saint Bernard the attention his master neglected. The dog wagged his tail, simply _vibrating_ with happiness, and jumped up to slather the android’s face with wet doggy kisses before trotting off to lap water out of his bowl. Probably to replace the water he had just drooled all over Connor.

“That’s the seventh one in two months,” Hank grumbled into his bottle. “This jackass is going around ripping the skin off of people and we don’t know a thing about ‘im. Don’t even know if they’re human or android.”

“To be fair,” Connor said, taking his shoes off, “given the lack of trace materials or DNA left by the killer, there is an 86% change the culprit is not human. Especially since none of the victims were androids.”

“Can’t exactly skin plastic,” Hank said. “But that still doesn’t really get us anywhere. There are thousands of androids living in Detroit these days. It’s not like we can go door to door and ask each one where they were from 9-10. Couldn’t even probe their memories if we wanted to thanks to those Android Rights Laws.”

Connor raised a brow.

“Not that they aren’t important,” Hank huffed. “I’m just saying it _could_ have helped the investigation.”

“I understand this is a hard case, Hank,” Connor said, coming to sit beside his partner on the couch. Sumo decided to join the two of them and wormed his way onto both of their laps. Hank held his bottle out of the dog’s way and took another swig. The motion was awkward, but he didn’t order Sumo to get down. “But you can’t let the investigation consume you.”

Hank scowled. “I’m not letting it _consume_ me. I’m just goddamn _frustrated_ that we have to sit back and wait for this dickhead to slip up.”

Connor’s LED cycled yellow as he frowned. “There has to be something else we can do in the meantime. Evidence to go over, witnesses to interview, professionals to consult…”

Hank quirked an eyebrow. “What kind of professionals?”

“Coroners, psychologists, forensic experts, I don’t know.” He sank into the couch. “Just trying to think of anything that might benefit the—”

“Psychologists, eh?” Hank mused, swirling his beer. “You know, that might not be a bad idea.”

“We could speak to Mr. Lawrence in the morning I suppose,” Connor suggested, absentmindedly running his fingers through Sumo’s fur. “I imagine he wouldn’t be too pleased to be called into the office this late at night.”

“I’m not talking about Lawrence,” Hank said. “He already gave us the skimpy report he calls a rudimentary profile. You said a professional psychologist. I happen to know someone who graduated top of her class with a Doctorate in Psychology with a major in Criminal Psychology.”

“And you think speaking to her will help?” Connor asked.

Hank shrugged. “Not like we have anything to lose.”

“Would you like me to contact her?”

“I can do it myself,” the lieutenant replied, finishing his beer as he used his free hand to reach into his pants pocket. He fished around and shifted, trying to get, presumably, his phone out of his jeans with a 100kg St. Bernard on his lap. Two minutes later he threw up his hands. “Would you get this damned dog off me!”

 

* * *

 

 

The last place Connor thought Hank would be taking him was The Eden Club. Yet here they were, seated at a table tucked in the corner by the main stage, sipping whiskey and water.

The place had changed since the Android Rights Act passed. The rental pods had been stripped away from the walls and dancers, android and human alike, were free to roam around, schmoozing customers for tips when not on stage. It certainly had lost its mechanical, slave-esque vibe –hell, it was almost welcoming—but it hardly seemed like the place they should be right now.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said, leaning over the table so Hank could hear him better, “I’m not sure I quite understand why we are here.”

Hank scowled into his tumbler. “It wasn’t my choice, okay. This is where she said she would meet us. So just keep your head down, mouth shut, and eyes on the table.”

Connor did as he was told. For all of three minutes.

He had always been rather fidgety, always had to be working towards his mission. Even after becoming deviant, he still found that sense of idleness unnerving.

He used his coin to try and stave off the feeling, rolling it between his knuckles back and forth, flicking it into the air or between his hands. It only lasted half a minute before Hank threw him a glare. Right.

He tried to focus on the table. He analyzed his water **[Detroit tap water. Compound H** **₂O. Traces of iron (Fe)]** , read the graffiti scratched into the surface of the plastic **[“Mark + Rebecca,” “I WAS HERE,” “Fuck Androids, Fuck the Cops, Fuck my Life” (3/24)]** , and even matched the colour **[8A2BE2]**. It’s difficult to waste time when your processor basically runs at the speed of sound.

So Connor rebelled and looked around the room.

It was fairly busy for a Thursday night, not that he _really_ had any indication of how busy a human/android strip club normally was. He could 65 people in the building, including himself, the bouncer, the manager, DJ, and all the dancers. Some form of techno music was pumping from the speakers, bass so loud he could sense the vibration.

The majority of the patrons were male, either sitting off to the side to ogle in private, or chair scooched as close to the stage as possible. Armed with singles, they were gracious with their tips, provided they’re fingers grazed skin or plastic. The handful of females weren’t any more composed, laughing or blushing as they stuck dollar bills into the g-strings of the dancers.

 There were potentially two androids for every five human performers. Connor recognized a few Traci models, as well as other WR400s and some HR400s.

On the stage in front of their table danced a blonde HR400, the name _Travis_ embossed on his briefs. He was very adept at pole tricks that required upper body strength and had a hurricane of bills fly at him when he flipped himself upside down. Connor wondered for a moment if he would also have the ability to hold himself in that manner.

Until he saw the stage to their right.

A new dancer had come out. He wasn’t sure when, but he was certain he hadn’t seen her before. Dressed in traditional Eden Club attire, there was nothing strictly out of the ordinary about her, but he watched regardless. She had a charming face, round in some areas and defined in others, with a full mouth and bright eyes. Her lashes dusted her cheeks as she performed, playing up the demure “come hither” look. Her hair was loose, left to swing and sway as she moved, expertly moving around and on the pole. She performed deftly, with such ease and comfort, like she was more than happy to do nothing else but dance for watching eyes.

“Connor!” Hank snapped, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

The android didn’t even have the wherewithal to pull his eyes away. “She’s very skilled.”

“We are not here to _participate_ , Connor,” Hank grunted.

At that, Connor did turn his head around. He looked sheepish. “Of course. My apologies.”

The woman left the stage shortly after

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Hank was halfway through his second glass of whiskey and Connor was considering going into hibernation mode until their psychologist showed up.

Hank downed the remainder of his drink and clunked it down on the table. “I swear to god, I’m going to murder her.”

“That would be inadvisable, Lieutenant,” Connor quipped.

“Ah, shuttup, you fucking android,” Hank said, the name coming out more a term of affection than an insult. “I can’t believe I even agreed to meet her here. Absolutely ridiculous. I’m going to give her an earful as soon as—.”

“Sorry for the wait.”

Both men turned to see a woman approach them. Connor had, for some reason, expected the woman to arrive in a lab coat or a pencil skirt or something more formal. Instead, she was draped in an Eden Club dressing robe, her lingerie peeking out from the folds.

The dancer Connor had watched on stage waltzed up to their table and grabbed his glass of water.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked. “I was in a rush to come out and I didn’t grab any out back.”

**[System delay]**

It took five seconds longer than normal to choke out the response. “Be my guest.”

She raised the glass to drink and Connor’s eyes flew to her neck, watching it with a strange fascination as she gulped down the water.

When she was finished, she set the glass down. “Thanks, I really needed that.”

“My pleasure.”

Hank cleared his throat. “Connor, this is Abby White, full time psychologist, part time stripper.”

“I’m also his god-daughter,” Abby said, slinging an arm around the lieutenant. “He doesn’t approve of me working here.”

Hank grumbled. “Showing off your body, dancing like a floozy, it ain’t right.”

“It’s _fun_ and I like it,” she said, flicking the older man on the forehead.

Hank grumbled, rubbing the spot.

“I thought you were very good,” Connor commented.

Abby beamed. “Why thank you. And I have to say, Connor, it’s an honour to finally meet you. I’ve heard nothing but good things about DPD’s android detective.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “Though I’m sad to say Hank has never mentioned having a god-daughter.”

“Yes, I know.” She cast a glare at Hank. “He doesn’t like telling people about me.”

Hank glared right back. “Last time you came into the station, I had to wrench men off of you.”

“You did _not_ ,” she said, rolling her eyes. “A detective asked me out, that’s it. No one even so much as touched me, you overprotective geezer.”

“Whatever,” he gruffed. “Look, can we get the fuck out of here now, please? This music is giving me a headache.”

“I told you you didn’t have to come,” Abby replied. “I said I could meet you at your house, but _nooo_ , you wouldn’t let a grown woman go home alone like she does every other night—”

“Just get dressed and meet us at the damn car.”

 

* * *

 

 

Abby immediately buried herself into Sumo the moment she walked through the door. The dog, in turn, looked incredibly excited to see her.

“Hey, boy! How’ve you been, huh? Is the mean old man treating you well?”

Hank nudged her out of the doorway with his boot. “Of course I treat him well, who do you think I am?”

Connor stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. Sumo picked his head up from slobbering over Abby and wiggled out of her grasp to jump at the android. Connor smiled as he caught the brunt of the dog’s weight on his chest. He allowed Sumo to give him a few wet licks. “Good to see you too, Sumo. Good boy.”

Abby smiled from her place on the floor. “He likes you.”

Connor grinned back. “I like to think so. I’ve become very fond of him in return.”

“Hey kid,” Hank called from the kitchen, head stuffed in the fridge, “You want anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer if you’re offering,” she replied, getting to her feet.

Connor’s brow wrinkled. “Are you sure ingesting anything would be wise? I know Hank warned you about the victim’s states in the car, but they really are jarring.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve seen all kinds of messed up shit in my line of work. The human mind can be scarier than any crime scene photos, I can assure you.”

“If you’re sure. We have everything laid out in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

Abby rolled her shoulders. “Might as well get started.”

 

* * *

 

[Support Me on Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/A14822WW)


	2. Chapter 2

The crime scene photos from various cases were laid out on Hank’s dining room table like some sick, psychotic art show. Adam Scott, 38. Laura Wellington, 29. Camille Balewa, 44. All the way to John McAllen. The pictures were lined up haphazardly, melding into a bloody collage that was sprinkled here and there with still-shots of the victims’ residences. Standard procedure.

Abby pulled up a chair and took a seat in front of the gory collection. For a long moment, she did nothing but sip the beer Hank had given her and stare at the photos. Occasionally, she would pick one up for closer inspection, but always put it back without a word.

Connor and Hank switched between overseeing her perusal and sending each other uncertain glances. They hadn’t known what to expect from their criminal psychologist, but this casual silence wasn’t it.

It was only when her beer was nearly gone that she actually spoke.

“Victims were all of various ages, genders, and races. No common denominator relating to psychical appearance either. MO identical in all seven cases: the victims were rendered unconscious, likely from a blow to the head judging from these cranial indentations, and stripped of their stratum corneum and viable epidermis, which appears to be the only COD, unless a poison or neurotoxin was ingested.”

Hank shook his head. “Nothing found in the tox report.”

“Ok, so the murder weapon would have had to have been a knife. With these cuts, I would venture either a boning knife or a hunter’s skinning knife. Anything like that found at the scene?”

Again Hank shook his head.

Abby drained the remains of her bottle and then clanked it on the table. “Alright then, we have two possibilities. The first of course, is that the perp is an android; clean cuts, no finger-prints, no mess. The second is that you have a mentally disturbed human with an acute neurosis and potentially a serious case of OCD.”

“We had kinda figured that shit out,” Hank said. “More or less, anyway. What about motive? Anything that could actually help us find this fucker?”

Abby frowned. “That’s where the issue lies. The motive would vary depending on whether or not the killer was android or human. If it was an android, it would likely be an individual who has an aggressive distaste for the human race and was more on the unstable side of things technology-wise. If it’s a human… well, that’s a whole other can of worms.”

“Well that’s just great,” Hank grumbled.

Connor’s LED cycled yellow. “Is there any way we can help you work out if the perpetrator was android or human? Any other photos we can show you or interviews you can read?”

Abby folded her arms. “It wouldn’t hurt to check out the scenes myself. When I’m there in person, I can often adopt someone’s headspace and work through the crime. You guys still have control over the Maplewood place, right?”

“Now wait just a second,” Hank said. “If you think I’m letting you near an active crime scene, you’re out of your damn mind!”

Abby scoffed. “Yeah, and how often has your perp actually returned to the scene of the crime?”

“I ain’t taking any risks here, missy.” Hank scowled.  

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “You’ll be there. Connor will be there. I’m sure Ben will still be there too. You’re still sweeping the place, right? I highly doubt anyone is going to want to get close to that house, let alone a suspect.”

“It may help, Lieutenant,” Connor commented, cautiously optimistic.

“You wanted my expertise,” Abby added. “This is how I work.”

Hank groaned. “Fine. We’ll bring you to the dead guy’s house.” 

* * *

 

Ben Collins was still overseeing the perimeter when they arrived. Standing by his squad car with what appeared to be an extra-extra-large mug of coffee, the detective looked exhausted. He couldn’t even muster enough energy to change his expression as the three of them approached.

“Bringing in the big guns, huh?” he said, spying the group. “How’s it going, Abby?”

“Good, Ben,” she replied with a smile. “How are things with you?”

He grimaced. “Would be going hell of a lot better if we could find some conclusive evidence around here.”

“Did you guys find _anything?_ ” Hank asked.

“A lot of circumstantial shit,” Collins said with a withering look. “Got a list as long as my arm.”

“Give me the details,” Hank sighed. “We can’t afford to overlook anything.”

“If you say so.”

“Well I’m not sticking around to hear Ben’s arm list,” Abby said. “If you need me, I’ll be inside.”

She was halfway to the threshold when Hank turned to berate her. “Oh, for the love of… Connor! Go with her!”

“On it,” the android replied, his long strides bringing him in line with Abby in a few paces.

They entered the house together, stepping out of the streetlights and into the stale illumination of the police floodlights. Evidence markers were sparse, littered here and there around the angry red splotch on the floor where the body had been. Flies had gathered to inspect the decaying smell of blood. A window had been opened to spare humans the odour.

“This might not be the most exciting experience for you, Connor,” Abby said, gathering her bearings near the entryway. “I mostly do a lot of walking and thinking.”

“That’s quite alright,” he replied. “I’ll review the collected evidence a few more times.”

He stooped by the largest cluster of markers, rescanning the points of interest in the hopes of cobbling together a reconstruction of the murder. **[Blood smear. Confirmed John McAllen. Two feet from concentration of blood]** Victim was first cut here. **[Dark stain. Alcohol C 2H6O. 150ml. Lingering aroma] **Victim had been relaxing with a drink before the attack. **[Absence of secondary DNA or android traces]** No signs of a scuffle. Perpetrator was exceedingly careful.

Connor straightened, frowning down at the mess. He needed more information to reconstruct what happened here. Even with the collaborating data from previous cases, there simply wasn’t enough evidence.

He peered over at Abby as she paced around the room. She was muttering under her breath and miming various gestures.

“Any luck?” Connor asked.

Her eyes snapped to his, something wild and feral in her expression. She gave herself a little shake and it cleared. “I’m working through a few things, but I have to consider the various possibilities and motives that could apply to the perp. Did they have family or friends? Were they lonely? Did they have past traumas or histories with violence? There are too many variables.”

“I’m sure you can narrow it down a little,” Connor said encouragingly. “You’ve only just begun after all. I’m certain with your experience, you can eliminate some qualifiers.”

She offered him a half smile. “I’ll do my best,” she said, and then slipped back into whatever trance she had adopted previously.

Connor continued around the room, stopping to inspect the few evidence markers scattered throughout the house. Most of it was rudimentary, marking more what was absent than what was actually there: no additional fingerprints, no knives missing, no stray skin cells or hair follicles. It was hardly standard procedure to include these in the evidence log, but they were grasping at straws.

The handful of other markers simply kept tabs on the blood spatter, any stray blood drops that had flicked through the air during the whole… skinning process. There were three in total, two relatively nearby the dried pool of blood, and another closer to the jamb of the kitchen doorway.

Connor walked by Abby as he strode to that last splot. She was back in her own mind, brow furrowed in concentration as she murmured thoughts to herself. Unconsciously, Connor’s fingers brushed her own in a gesture that could have passed as reassuring if questioned. Instead of inquiring about the action however, Abby turned her gaze towards Connor and gave him a warm smile.

He tried not to think about it too much **[internal temperature rising] [thirium pump accelerating]** as he bent to examine the patch of blood. Focus. Work. Investigation.

To his frustration, this piece of evidence too was the same as the others. It was exactly as expected, a simple stray drop of John McAllen’s blood. No foreign substances. No trace DNA. No blue blood. Nothing. Just a tiny red spot near the baseboard of the wall.

Connor sighed in aggravation. Sitting back on his haunches, he ran a hand through his hair.

And that’s when he saw it.

A tiny scratch. Not even a millimetre in depth, maybe two centimetres long, etched into the drywall two feet up.

On the white paint, it was hardly visible, and certainly nothing most people who deem significant. Any number of items could have left a scratch like that on a wall. A table being moved. A key. Hell, even someone’s fingernail.

But Connor, being the state-of-the-art supercomputer that he was, could analyze the cut down to the atom. From the angle, the slopes, the indents, he could replicate this.

 

**[Reconstruct]**

_John McAllen sits in his living room, watching TV and drinking scotch._

_Perpetrator enters, poised to knock McAllen unconscious with **[unidentified].**_

_McAllen sees the reflection in the TV and deflects the blow. He follows with a thrust, and sends the perpetrator reeling back, the knife in their other hand grazing the wall._

_A knife which, judging from the tapering divot, was indeed, a boning knife._

“Abby,” Connor said, his voice betraying his excitement. “I’ve found something.”

Her voice was tight when she replied. “Um, Connor?”

He turned his head and his circuits shorted out.

They were not alone in the house any longer.

Another android had appeared. From the open window if Connor had to guess. He was tall, dressed in dirty clothes that were covered in tatters. He was assuredly an WR600, but there were wounds on his face. He was standing behind Abby, arm around her so she was pressed against his front like a shield. She was still, too afraid to move, her eyes searching for Connor’s as they filled with fear and worry.

But what made Connor’s thirium run cold was the knife he held to her throat.

“This house was meant to be empty,” the android said, voice flustered and flighty. “ _Empty_. No owner. What you doing here?”

“We are investigating a homicide,” Connor said cautiously, sliding into his negotiator role. “I’m Connor of the DPD and the woman you have is Abby White, a psychologist. She’s my friend, please let her go.”

“The DPD finished their business twenty-three minutes ago,” the android said, ignoring Connor’s plea. “You should not be here.”

“We needed to return here to look for additional information,” Connor said. His eyes followed the knife at Abby’s neck, at how it moved and shook the more agitated this WR600 became. **[Objective: Calm Target]** “What’s your name?”

The android looked hesitant, but answered. “Ralph. I am Ralph.”

“And what are you doing here, Ralph?”

Again, the WR600 paused. Abby barely breathed. “For supplies. Ralph knew this house was empty. He saw the man leave yesterday, so he thought he could find clothes for him and his friends.”

Both Connor’s and Abby’s breath hitched.

“What man?” Connor asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“Ralph saw a man leave through the window hours ago. But then the police arrived. So Ralph went away until they left.”

“Did you see his face?” Connor prodded. “Was he an android or a human?”

“Ralph doesn’t know,” he replied, expression growing wary. “He will leave now.”

He took a few steps backwards toward the window, bringing Abby with him. She hissed as the knife nicked her skin.

“Stop!” Connor admonished. “You’re hurting her. Let her go!”

Ralph shook his head, his knife now lined with red. “Ralph is afraid of being arrested, so he will keep the lady until he is gone.”

“We don’t want to arrest you,” Connor assured. He was finding it hard to balance his calm rationality and his frantic concern. “We just want you to tell us everything you know about the man you saw.”

The android squeezed Abby harder, his knife digging deeper. She whimpered in his arms, eyes locked on Connor. “Ralph does not believe you. He knows what policemen do to his kind.”

“Things have changed,” Connor said. “I’m an RK800 android and I’m a detective for the DPD. Additionally, the Android Rights Act protects all androids, even in government and state buildings. You won’t be harmed, I promise. Now please, let Abby go.”

Blood was trickling down her chest at this point, but Ralph didn’t seem to notice. He shifted on his feet. “Ralph is unsure. He carries a lot of fear with him. He is scared.”

Connor smoothed out his voice. “So am I. The woman you have is important to me. She’s very special to my partner, a man I have grown to know as a father, and I have even gotten to know her as a friend and acquaintance. She is already injured and I’m afraid it will get worse if you continue to hold her captive. Please, Ralph. Please let her go.”

For many horrifying moments, it seemed as if Ralph would not relent. He stood there, cemented on the spot, blade still poised at Abby’s neck. Connor’s eyes kept flickering from Ralph to Abby, going from calm assurance to gut-wrenching worry. Her eyes never left him in turn. They held both fear for herself and confidence in him.

Then, the knife retracted and Ralph relinquished his hold.

Abby stumbled forward returning to Connor. He caught her forearms before she could tumble to the floor and held her to him, both arms wrapping around her securely. The gesture was meant to comfort, though he wasn’t sure if he was comforting himself or Abby. He took his eyes off Ralph for a few seconds to check her wound and, once convinced her life wasn’t in danger, moved her to stand behind him.

Ralph watched sheepishly. “Please excuse Ralph. Even now he still can’t fully control his fear.” He looked pointedly at Abby. “Ralph is sorry he hurt you.”

“I forgive you,” she said, stepping out a little from behind Connor so she could speak properly. Her voice was surprisingly steady given the circumstances. “Those marks on your face were left by humans, weren’t they?”

Ralph nodded.

“We won’t let you be hurt anymore, okay?” she said. “We just need to ask you a few questions and then you can be on your way, alright?”

Again Ralph nodded.

“Let’s go out the front, shall we?” Abby suggested. “I’m sure you’ve had enough crawling through windows for one day.”

Ralph’s face split into a smile. “Oh, Ralph actually finds it quite enjoyable.”

[Support Me on Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/A14822WW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos!


End file.
